


An Aurora In Iceland

by Cleverclove



Category: Carmen Sandiego (Cartoon 2019)
Genre: Aurora Borealis, First Kiss, Fluff and Slight Angst, M/M, Sketches, pretty cute tbh, very self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:13:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23151511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cleverclove/pseuds/Cleverclove
Summary: Sometimes he glances over after a tough caper, successful or not, and just smiles softly. The way his silver hair is arranged, tousled after their hard work, shows a vulnerability they aren’t allowed to show on missions. His eyes speak when both are so tired it hurts to do so in words. Are you okay? Are you hurt? You did a good job. Le Chèrve always finds himself grinning back.
Relationships: El Topo | Antonio/Le Chèvre | Jean-Paul
Comments: 9
Kudos: 128





	An Aurora In Iceland

El Topo hates no one. Somehow, Le Chèrve cannot help being surprised.

It’s not that he’s surprised at _him,_ per se. El Topo has always been kind, possessing a rare soul despite what his job requires. Le Chèrve doesn’t really know what made him think of it. It’s just strange, seeing how he remains so sweet and supportive and _good_ that sometimes Le Chèrve wondered how someone like him could end up in a place like VILE. 

_How could he end up with someone like me,_ a more intrusive thought utters in his brain. 

Of course, they are just friends. VILE requires one to give up many things: your identity, past, and remaining morals to name a few. But El Topo is something they can or will not take away, not as long as Le Chèrve is alive. If he had to recall his past (which he prefers not to), he cannot remember a friend or _anyone_ who he trusted so freely. And who he cared for so freely. 

Sometimes he glances over after a tough caper, successful or not, and just smiles softly. The way his silver hair is arranged, tousled after their hard work, shows a vulnerability they aren’t allowed to show on missions. His eyes speak when both are so tired it hurts to do so in words. _Are you okay? Are you hurt? You did a good job._ Le Chèrve always finds himself grinning back.

One week, they are once again sent on a mission near Professor Maelstrom’s homeland of Scandinavia. Specifically, Iceland. Known for a historically large Viking population, VILE has set its sights on a rare 1,000 year old sword recently discovered on the southern part of the island. It is a very standard mission. This is not why Le Chèrve remembers it so vividly.

Operatives are given the choice of planning a normal caper at their own leisure. Le Chèrve and El Topo have a tacit agreement: they plan together, and since El Topo had been in Bulgaria until three days ago and Le Chèrve in Saudi Arabia, they have a few days to finish their plans. 

They are done mapping out plans now, finishing surprisingly fast at 8:00 at night. The air is cold in Selfoss, Iceland, which apparently has only a few thousand people. That makes the caper-planning much easier, and it’s also quiet, so they decide to don some thick jackets and walk to the waterfall, a short excursion before the actual mission tomorrow. Le Chèrve looks to the nightstand of the hotel room before they leave. He quickly grabs his sketchbook and pencil, usually used for visualizing break-in locations, along.

They are sitting by the cliffs, staying safely away from the rushing water below. The real treat is the sky above. It is covered in ribbons of musky red, a lovely streak against the darkness. El Topo looks up, mouth upturned and slightly agape in wonder. Le Chèrve savors the white noise of the waterfall and the light of the auroras, the wonder of it all registering as yet another sight in his brain. Suddenly, the wind runs past his ears as El Topo shivers against him for warmth. 

“Hey, you okay, _mon ami?”_ Le Chèrve snakes an arm around his friend, whose teeth chatter with the sudden breeze.

El Topo swallows while he hugs himself for warmth. _“S-sí,_ but thank you for your concern. It’s strange,” he says almost apologetically, “no matter how much I travel, I still have to adjust to the cold.”

“You _are_ my friend, and Tigress says I am the coldest roommate,” jokes Le Chèrve as he takes off his jacket to wrap around El Topo.

“Yeah, well, Tigress is wrong about a lot of things. You should see her in a bad mood,” retorts El Topo playfully as he embraces his new layer.

“True.” _No argument there,_ thinks Le Chèrve.

They begin settling into familiar conversation, about recent missions, old memories, and (“VI-dle”) gossip about other operatives, and for a man who hates no one, he has some choice words about Paper Star (not that you’ll find Le Chèrve complaining). They laugh. And if Le Chèrve could freeze the world in one moment, it would be when El Topo’s face, which he has seen crumple in agony when things got rougher and rougher and never seemed to _stop,_ lights up in genuine happiness.

Le Chèrve picks up his sketchbook after a comfortable silence settles. He doesn’t consider himself an artist, but reluctantly he begins to scratch some faint lines into the paper, his only light being the radiantly rusty aurora borealis above. He draws the sharp plunge of the cliff (perhaps he could go cliff-diving if they had the time), the mighty falls needing a contrast to the darker cliffs. He draws a curved line for the aurora. It looks too awkward in the midst of this abstract and awful pad of paper. For a moment, he is tempted to crumple it and throw it into the falls, but before he can, his eyes fall to El Topo beside him, looking half-awake and half-asleep.

“El Topo, if you are tired, we can head back,” he says softly into his friend’s ear.

He let out a small, sleepy hum. “‘S fine. Keep drawing.”

Le Chèrve nods, not realizing he knew, and looks back at his paper. The red is rich and decidedly not easy to draw with just a standard, often chewed-on pencil. So, he focuses his attention on other things. He finds himself outlining something else near the bottom left. It should be out of place in this drawing, but it feels so innate inside this image that Le Chèrve draws it almost impulsively. It’s El Topo.

Art is not his forte, but if he had to pinpoint his specialty, he can draw people with relative ease. He saw them everyday. Drawing his best friend is easy as breathing. And after a while, he finishes his indulgent little sketch and lays it down, never to be seen by anyone, especially El Topo. He seems to be fully awake now with his knees against his torso. Le Chèrve’s eyes widen, only now realizing how _close_ they are. 

He feels El Topo’s eyes on him. “What did you draw,” he asks, reaching for his sketchbook. 

“Nothing!” Le Chèrve tries to grab the sketchbook defensively, but he’s too late. El Topo is examining the paper, his rather bad eyes adjusting to the image in his arms. Le Chèrve prepares a lengthy explanation on how it was purely to use his sketchbook for _sketching_ for once, but before he can, El Topo gasps in delight and meets his eyes. 

“Is that me? I did not realize you were an artist,” exclaims El Topo. 

“Well,” Le Chèrve says with uncharacteristic sheepishness, “I’m not. Never have been. I only try to draw extraordinary things so I do it at least _some_ justice.”

“Ah.” El Topo looks down for just a moment, then speaks again, a wry grin on his face. “Why did you draw me, then? I am nothing extraordinary.” He means it as a joke, but it sounds like he didn’t intend to add “extraordinary” at the end.

Le Chèrve blinks at him, bemused. “You…do not think you are extraordinary, _mon ami?”_

El Topo lets out a low, bitter laugh. “An extraordinary _failure,_ according to Tigress.”

Le Chèrve makes a mental note to punch Tigress in the face as soon as he saw her. “Like you said, Tigress is wrong about a lot of things.” _Because you are extraordinary in every single way. I wish I could make you see that_ went unsaid.

El Topo laughs half-heartedly, but in the darkness, a few shimmering tears escape his eyes. Le Chèrve outstretches his hand to his cheek, brushing them away. “It must be hard,” he remarks softly, “to give all this love to the world and not leave any for yourself. Give yourself credit, _mon ami.”_

He opens his mouth to argue, but Le Chèrve puts his other hand on his face. They’ve had moments like this before, moments of intimacy that never went too far. But tonight is different. Le Chèrve is always confident, but now is the time he leans in closer, even if his mind is slamming the brakes. He stops just inches away because he cannot, _will not_ destroy the best friendship he’s ever had for a massive mistake. But El Topo senses the move and, in a quick, fluid moment, flips in front of him on his knees and meets his lips. Just like the drawing, El Topo _fits_ so naturally. His lips are uncertain and chapped from the cold, and the kiss is warm against the Iceland weather. It’s so sudden and sweet and _perfect_ that Le Chèrve feels his normally rapid mind go still. El Topo has stopped crying now except for some residual sobs that are muffled by Le Chèrve’s lips on his. 

At last, they pull away. “So…you really feel like this?” 

Le Chèrve rolls his eyes. “No, I am risking losing the best man I have ever known for an elaborate, long-term prank,” he deadpans, then more seriously, “and before you argue, yes, you are the best man I have ever known.”

El Topo smiles contently and sinks back into his arms. They stay like that for a few more minutes. Finally, Le Chèrve picks up his sketchbook and pencil before they stand up together to head back to the hotel. They need to rest for the mission tomorrow, and a “short excursion” turned into two hours and both are exhausted due to extensive planning and unstable time zones. 

“Do you think,” asks El Topo during the walk back, “we would have met if it were not for VILE?”

Le Chèrve contemplates life without VILE. “No,” he says, brushing his gloved hand around El Topo’s, “but I am grateful that I did find you when I did. I do not know what my life would have been like, but I definitely know it would have been a darker place without you.”

El Topo squeezes his hand, once, twice, then looks at him, smiling. His eyes say everything. _Te amo._

Staring back, Le Chèrve beams. _Je t'aime._

And although Carmen Sandiego barges in the next day and foils their caper, Le Chèrve could care less. He does not even remember the details of the actual incident. What he does remember is flashes of red in the sky and a rushing waterfall and the sketch which, while average at best to the untrained eye, is framed in El Topo’s suitcase. 

El Topo hates no one. Le Chèrve thanks whatever force of destiny that he never believed in that makes someone like El Topo love him.   
  


_Fin._

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! That interactive was a piece of art and renewed my Jeantonio mood enough to create this over the course of a couple days. Thank you for reading, comments and kudos are always appreciated. ‘Till next time! -Cleverclove


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